


The Wilhelm Scream

by wildcosmia



Series: Reed, We've Got Ourselves a New Problem [1]
Category: Adam-12
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcosmia/pseuds/wildcosmia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reed and Malloy catch a call, and Malloy's catching some other things, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wilhelm Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. First part in a planned longer series. I warned for slash here because of my overall intentions for the series and less because of what's actually contained in this piece, but I wanted to be well out in front of that. Thanks for reading!

_Might as well fall in..._

 

"1-Adam-12. 1-Adam-12, see the manager. 211, 338 South Van Ox. 1-Adam-12, code 2."

"1-Adam-12, roger."

Pete hears the radio click back into place after his partner responds to their first call of the shift. It's been a slow night. They've been out for nearly an hour, so far without as much as a speeder or a stumbling drunk. He glances over at his partner; Jim's leaning back in his seat, staring out the window. Again. Pete reckons this has been the quietest patrol he's ever been on with him. There has been a distinct lack of Jim’s usual mix of commentary and storytelling... and not just tonight, but for the past week or so; tonight's simply been worse than the others. The quiet patrol has magnified the silence in the car.

"Hey partner, are you with me?" Pete asks gently. He makes a right turn at the light. The liquor store's only a couple blocks ahead.

"Yeah, Pete, sorry." Jim sits up in his seat, and Pete thinks he looks like he's a first-day trainee again. He suspects there's not a single relaxed muscle in his body.

"I mean it, Jim, are you with me?" Pete asks again, sternly this time. One more block to go. "Look, we're going to have a conversation after shift tonight, this settles it. But I gotta know now if you're gonna have my back when we go in, if I’ve got your full attention."

"Of course I've got your back, don't worry about me." Jim's voice sounds tinged with annoyance, but Pete sees something else on his face—he's not sure what to make of it. At the moment, though, he's got to focus on the call. He pulls the car up to the curb, assuring himself that Jim's never let him down before, that he trusts Jim, completely. For the moment, that has to be good enough.

Pete looks over one more time. "Let's go, then," he directs, hoping he’d managed to keep the wariness he was feeling out of his voice. He grabs his hat and club as he steps out of the car, securing both as he walks around the car. Jim radios in their location and then lets him pass to take the lead to the liquor store.

As soon as Pete crosses the threshold of the shop, a man comes running out from one of the aisles. "Thank goodness you're here!"

Pete gives the store a once-over. "What's happened here?"

The clerk shakes his head. "These two punks come running in here and start grabbing bottles. I stepped out from behind the counter to see what the hurry and fuss is, and one of 'em jumps behind the counter, pulls his gun out, and tells me to get down! While he's working the register, the other one's stuffing his bag with bottles! All top shelf stuff, too!"

Pete sees Jim out of the corner of his eye, and he's got his notepad out. "How long ago did they leave?"

"Maybe five minutes, ten tops!"

"Did they have a getaway car?"

"No, they left on foot. Running! I suppose they could have been parked a bit away, but I looked out and saw them going on foot still, about a block down. Those bottles are gonna be all smashed to hell!"

“You got a description?”

“Both of them are maybe the size your partner,” he replies, indicating Jim. “Jeans, light jackets… one blue, one red, I think. The one in the red jacket’s got shaggy brown hair. That’s all I’ve got.”

"What direction?"

"South!"

Pete looks at Jim. "Let's go, there's a chance we'll get lucky on this one." Jim nods.

"Mister..."

"Taylor, Arthur P."

"Mr. Taylor, we'll call in another unit to finish taking your statement," Pete says quickly. He motions at Jim and heads for the door.

Once they're in the car, he pulls out fast and heads south on the avenue. Jim calls for assistance, and luckily, Pete thinks, Jim also seems like he's back with him for the moment.

"Keep your eyes peeled down the streets. This is a long shot, but we may be able to spot them."

Pete drives down three blocks, and suddenly Jim yells out, "Turn right here!" Pete makes the turn, but can't immediately see what Jim must have noticed.

"What did you see?"

"Look, about five blocks up the hill, see those two guys?" Jim replies, pointing out the windshield. Pete catches it. Thank goodness for the hill, he thinks. There are two smallish blobs moving quickly up the street and even from this distance he can see the other pedestrians being shoved out of the way.

Pete guns it, waiting until they're just about on top of the runners to flip the siren. The two men turn and see the car; they're just at the top of the hill, and they make a sharp turn down the side street. He throws the car in park by the curb, and they both jump out.

"I know this block—run down to the corner store, go through and come out their back door. It's a closed, L-shaped alley and you'll get a good position on them," Pete orders. He doesn't wait for a response before taking off and following them into the alley from the street; such an obvious route. No pros here. He slows down—he can't see either one of them, and there are a lot of dumpsters, crates and boxes sitting around. The alley runs back down the hill, and takes a right turn; Jim will be able to get a good jump on them from behind, if necessary.

He draws his gun and proceeds slowly, taking cover behind the first dumpster to his left. "This is the police! We've got you cornered! Come out with your hands up!"

He waits a beat and hears nothing. He checks around the next dumpster, and takes cover again in the new position.

"Come out now! We've got you!" Pete hopes the storeowners on this block all kept their alley doors locked like Joe did on the corner.

He hears some gravel being disturbed, and thinks it's from just around the corner. He proceeds, cautiously, to the third dumpster in the row and takes cover. He's got an angle around the corner now. He hasn't heard a door yet indicating his partner's arrival, but he dismisses the concern. Jim may just be being particularly quiet today; it wouldn't be the first time.

"You've reached the end of the line! Surrender yourselves right now!"

He waits a couple moments before darting across to the corner. He peeks around the wall, gun first. He can see the end of the alley ahead, with the door from Joe's. Between the door and his position are two more dumpsters lining the right side and a bunch of crates and boxes on the left. As he's moving to his next position, behind the first dumpster on the right, a gunshot rings out. He dives down behind the dumpster. He can hear a door burst open, and it's Jim all right; he's yelling at the shooters, now. Pete sneaks a look out from the side of the dumpster. He thinks they must be in the mess of crates and boxes.

"Malloy! You all right?" Jim yells, from a distance.

"Fine!" Pete calls back, adjusting his stance to a crouch. He's watching the crates and boxes for any sign of movement.

"We've got you surrounded!" he yells. "We can end this right now!"

Then the commotion breaks out. Pete sees one of the suspects pop up and catch his eye. "Gun!" he shouts. He's diving behind the dumpster again as the next shot rings out. He regains his balance and moves back forward to the edge, and fires at the ducking suspect. He hears a yelp.

Pete catches movement from the corner of his eye and looks to see Jim running out from his cover.

"Reed!" he calls out angrily. The second suspect sees him, too, and turns his gun. Pete fires off a second shot and then checks for his partner’s location—Jim is hitting the ground. The suspect turns back to Pete, and manages to fire in the split second Pete's attention is on his partner. The surprise of pain in his arm throws him off balance and he hits the ground.

He grabs at his left arm. Bloody. He sees Jim pop up again and tackle the shooter, taking him down easily. He crawls over to them, and finds the first one, bleeding out from the shoulder. His arm is burning with pain, but he ignores it for the moment. Jim's wrestled his shooter into cuffs, and is forcefully enunciating the man's rights. Yelling, really. Pete checks the pulse of the man on the ground. Still alive.

"Reed, go call this in, NOW!" Pete orders, trying to situate his injured arm away from the also-injured suspect.

"You're bleeding," Jim says with a far away sound in his voice.

Pete turns around sharply. "And you can mother hen me when you get back! GO, Reed!" He watches Jim's face flicker a hurt expression and, just as quickly, hide it away. He takes off running. Pete sighs. This was shaping up to be one hell of a talk after their shift was over.

He shifts his bloody suspect flat so he can work on wound suppression while keeping an eye on the other, still lying in a heap on ground, handcuffed. He wipes his hand clean on his uniform, but just in case, he tears up the man’s shirt a bit so he can cover his hand while he works.

The man underneath his hands makes a strange sound, almost like a croak. “Shut up, just stay quiet,” Pete barks at him, adding a bit of pressure to the man’s bleeding shoulder. There’s someone approaching him from behind; it sounds like Jim’s gait. He glances to his side, and sure enough, Jim’s walking back to him and their bloody shooter.

“What’s the ETA on the ambulance?” Pete asks.

“About ten minutes,” Jim responds. Pete nods.

“Okay, get our friend over there to the car,” he directs, nodding toward the cuffed suspect.

“He’ll be fine for a minute longer.” Instead, Jim kneels next to Pete and looks at his left arm.

“Reed,” Pete growls, “I’m fine. Take the suspect to the car.”

Jim’s not listening.

There’s a very short list of things Pete Malloy will never share with anyone. Absolutely number one on that list is a detailed account of his _actual_ feelings concerning his young, impetuous partner. (Very favorable. Extremely high-potential trainee. Well, okay, maybe those he’ll share, though he’ll probably leave out some of the vigor with which he feels them. He’s a professional, remember. Wears the uniform well, and _looks good in it_. Pleasure, when he gets to be the object of Jim’s attention. Longing for… yeah, there are the ones that aren’t going anywhere.) Situations like the one currently playing out are the hardest for him to navigate, keeping those feelings under wraps and not acting selfishly when it came to the focus of his partner.

It’s not escaping his notice that tonight his partner’s seemingly waging that same internal battle, because he sees it slipping out all over Jim’s expressions and actions; apparently, Pete’s winning.

“Reed, I was joking about you getting to mother me,” he tries gently, refocusing on the situation. “Ten minutes, I’ve got it. Get the guy in the car or to a backup unit.” Flat-out refusal’s usually the best tactic, he’s decided. Don’t let things get out of hand.

Jim’s still not listening. He’s occupied himself by ripping at his clothing. Pete wonders exactly what part of what he said actually meant ‘no Jim, what you should be doing is untucking your uniform shirt so you can tear a strip off your white undershirt for a field bandage’ because this is what Jim’s decided to do instead. It’s hard to deny that he _likes_ this, really, but this is not the time. There are _suspects_ here.

“Reed.” It comes out as a growl.

“Shut up, lemme wrap this on your arm.”

Pete stares at him. He hopes his face isn’t reflecting too much of his inner amusement and appreciation, because that has to be saved for later. Jim needs to listen to him now; it’s not like he’s dying or anything, and this is quickly slipping through the grasp of professional actions here which is not acceptable.

He gasps a little when Jim first applies the makeshift bandage, but in no time Jim has it secured in place.

“Are you satisfied that I won’t fall apart?” Pete pauses. “Will you _please_ take our silent handcuffee to the car now?” he tries again, a little more gently once more. He’s gratified to see Jim stand, though he still looks like a wounded puppy.

“Reed….”

“What.”

Pete actually flinches at the tone in Jim’s voice. He sounds like he’s just on the brink of something dark. Pete sighs; he’ll give in now, and that’s absolutely a problem, but he’s hopeful that maybe their talk after shift tonight will yield some better results.

“Just… later, okay? You still have me later.”

Something shifts in Jim’s face, and Pete’s not sure what he’s said but if it’s worked, fine. The shooter really needs to get brought out to the car and the scene handled. That was his priority right now. But later, well….

One _hell_ of a talk.


End file.
